


i'm not owned! i'm not owned!

by escherzo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Columbus Blue Jackets, Cornhenge, Crack, Gen, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: In theory, Cornhenge is 109 stone ears of corn. Why it exists is largely a mystery to everyone, Dubi included, but he chalks it up to “Ohio is weird as shit” and moves on on a normal day.Cornhenge is currently slightly more than 109 stone ears of corn.“Fligs, how did you not hear about this place being cursed,” Dubi sighs at one of the new statues.“I don't know, but also what the fuck, Dubi,” the ear of corn says, defensive. “Why didn't youtell me, it's right by your house. Also, are you okay?”Okay, he has limits, and being asked if he's alright by a teammate who is currently a corn statue is one of them.





	i'm not owned! i'm not owned!

**Author's Note:**

> @vichedman: "au where all the columbus blue jackets are corn" 
> 
> Yes, Cornhenge is a real thing. I don't understand it either. Google it, and if you're ever in Columbus, please take the time to experience that weird shit for yourself. 
> 
> This fic talks around the current drama re: Dubi a little bit, but not in any detail whatsoever, just FYI. Mostly because none of us have said detail.
> 
> Title from this dril tweet: https://twitter.com/dril/status/134787490526658561?lang=en

Dubi gets the text at eight in the morning.

“EMERGENCY TEXT ME BACK ASAP” 

Cam is not prone to texting this kind of shit, especially at this hour, and Dubi has been deliberately avoiding his phone for the last couple of days because there are national reporters trying to ask him what crimes he's committed, so it's a minor miracle he even sees it when he does.

“???????”

A moment later, his phone rings.

“Okay, so,” Cam says, and he sounds winded. “Z and I were going to hang out once he got back from being an all-star and I got to his apartment and he was missing—actually missing, I went in and checked, his phone was on his nightstand and his wallet was on his coffee table--”

“... you have a key to Z's apartment?”

“Scooter gang.”

“Right.”

“So he wasn't here but his stuff was and I tried calling the rest of the scooter gang and got no answers and Dub, I can't get ahold of _anyone_.”

Dubi frowns. “You tried Fligs?”

“I got Janelle and she's losing her shit too because he went out for some team bonding thing and never came back.” 

“Fuck. Okay. Give me a few to get dressed.”

“I'm at your front door, so hurry the fuck up.”

He hurries the fuck up.

*

Cam is dressed like he was planning to go out, but his carefully-gelled hair is standing straight up on one side, which is as best of a 'shit is fucked' sign as Dubi has ever seen from him. He winces and lets Cam in.

“You ok to deal with this? Not got any—stuff?”

Oh, for god's sake. 

“I have shit to deal with and I'm dealing with it, okay? Like I told you. I've got this.”

Cam wouldn't be judgmental, he gets that, and if shit gets further fucked he will absolutely show up at his doorstep, but it is not yet further fucked and he's really tired of avoiding talking about it and also his feelings. On a sidenote if their sports psych tells him one more time he's talking around actually saying how he's feeling he's going to put one of his golf clubs through a wall. 

Anyway.

“Alright,” Cam tells him, carefully, and he may put a golf club through the wall anyway hearing that tone. 

“So what the hell was this team bonding thing?”

“They were all going to go to Cornhenge I guess. The younger guys hadn't seen it yet.”

“Oh fuck.”

“What the hell do you mean 'oh fuck'? It's a bunch of stone ears of corn.” 

Dubi sighs.

“It may have been, uh. Look, okay, Carter had a lot of feelings about being stuck in the Midwest and he didn't handle them well.”

“Oh, fuck.”

There are other witches in the league, and most of them aren't good for anything other than the occasional party trick, but Carter is higher-caliber than that. Theoretically that was a selling point, or so Boller told him back in the day, back when he was still new and looking around the wreckage and literally cursed press box. Cam apparently missed hearing about the extent of it. 

“Yeah. So.”

Thank god Cornhenge is only a few minutes away from his house.

*

In theory, Cornhenge is 109 stone ears of corn. Why it exists is largely a mystery to everyone, Dubi included, but he chalks it up to “Ohio is weird as shit” and moves on on a normal day.

Cornhenge is currently slightly more than 109 stone ears of corn. 

“Fligs, how did you not hear about this place being cursed,” Dubi sighs at one of the new statues. 

“I don't know, but also what the fuck, Dubi,” the ear of corn says, defensive. “Why didn't you _tell me_ , it's right by your house. Also, are you okay?”

Okay, he has limits, and being asked if he's alright by a teammate who is currently a corn statue is one of them. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ I will leave you as an ear of corn.” 

“Dubi,” Cam says, and it's that careful tone again. 

Today is the worst. The very worst.

“I'm _fine_. Fuck. I can't believe you let all the babies get turned into corn.”

“It's not his fault,” Sedsy, also an ear of corn, pipes up. “We never seen it before so it sounded fun.” 

“Do you need me to take you all out clubbing or something? It's corn statues.” 

“We had to know if Ohio was really as boring as advertised,” another statue says, deadpan, and hi, Zach, nice to know where you've gotten to. 

“Again, I will take you out clubbing. I will pay for drinks and everything.” 

“Let's save the clubbing for when they're not corn,” Cam says. “Anyone have an idea on how to break this one?” 

“Is this Carter again? This is Carter again, isn't it.” Corn statues can't roll their eyes given their lack of, you know, eyes, but the one that is Matty—and all the ears in this field are uniform so how did he end up with one slightly smaller than the rest anyway—is definitely giving the impression that he's rolling his eyes somehow. 

“Uh huh,” Dubi grumps. 

“Well, you're not going to like it.”

“I don't like you _all being corn_.” 

“Yeah, I'm not a big fan either. He got dumped when he got traded so half his curses get fixed with kissing. So. Get smooching.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dubi says, head in his hands. “Okay. Well. You all owe me. Cam?”

Cam blows him a kiss. “Ready.” 

Skip him paying for drinks, they all better be paying for some nice lip balm after this. 

*

“Well,” not-corn Fligs says, stretching his legs. “That was some shit.”

It was indeed some shit. 

“But really, are you--”

“I will find a way to turn you back into corn,” Dubi says, as dignified as someone who has spent the last twenty minutes kissing corn statues is able to be. 

Fligs snorts and then gets that glint in his eye he gets when he's about to say some dad joke shit. 

“You wish you could handle this cob.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Fligs.”


End file.
